The Twisted Ones

by Scott Cawthon

Don’t trust your eyes.”

Dr. Treadwell

Her steps were slow and even, alm...

“Your eyes deceive you every day, filling in the blanks for you in a worl...

“When I say ‘sensory overload’ I mean that quite literally. At every moment, your senses are receiving far more information than they can process all at once, and your mind is forced to choose which signals to pay attention to. It does that based on your experiences, and your expectation of what is normal. The things we are familiar with are the things we can—for the most part—ignore. We see this most easily with olfactory fatigue: your nose ceases to perceive a smell when you’ve been around it for a while. You may be quite thankful for this phenomenon, depending on the habits of your roommate.”

In a classroom

“Your mind creates motion when there is none. It fills in colors and trajectories based on what you’ve seen before, and calculates what you should be seeing now.”

“If your mind didn’t do this, then simply walking outside and seeing a tree would consume all your mental energy, leaving no resources to do anything else. In order for you to function in the world, your mind fills in the spaces of that tree with its own leaves and branches.”

“It’s why when you enter a house for the first time you experience a moment of dizziness. Your mind is taking in more than usual. It’s drawing a floor plan, creating a palette of colors, and saving an inventory of images to draw on later, so you don’t have to go through that exhausting intake every single time. The next time you enter that same house, you’ll already know where you are.”

“Charlie,” hissed the voice again, and she waved her pencil impatiently at the figure peering over her shoulder—her friend Arty—trying to shoo him away. The gesture cost her a moment, put her half a step behind the professor. She hurried to catch up, anxious not to miss a single line.

John

would be here in—she glanced restlessly at her watch—an hour. I told him maybe someday we’ll see each other again. I guess it’s someday. He had called out of the blue: “I’m just going to be passing through,” he said, and Charlie hadn’t bothered to ask how he knew where she was. Of course he would know. There was no reason not to meet him, and she found herself alternately excited and filled with dread. Now, as she absently sketched rectangular forms along the bottom of her note paper, her stomach jumped, a little spasm of nerves. It felt like a lifetime since she last saw him. Sometimes, it felt like she’d seen him yesterday, as if the last year hadn’t passed. But of course it had, and everything had changed for Charlie once again. That May, the night of her eighteenth birthday, the dreams had begun. Charlie was long accustomed to nightmares, the worst moments of her past forced up like bile, into twisted versions of memories already too terrible to recall. She shoved these dreams into the back of her mind in the morning and sealed them away, knowing they would only breach it when night fell again. These dreams were different. When she woke, she was physically exhausted: not just drained but sore, her muscles weak. Her hands were stiff and aching, like they’d been clenched into fists for hours. These new dreams didn’t come every night, but when they did, they interrupted her regular nightmares and took them over. It didn’t matter if she was running and screaming for her li...

Sammy, her lost twin brother, was near. She knew he was present the same way she knew that she was present, and whatever the dream was, it dropped away—people, places, light, and sound. Now she was searching for him in the darkness, calling his name. He never answered. She would drop to her hands and knees, feeling her way through the dark, letting his presence guide her until she came to a barrier. It was smooth and cold, metal. She couldn’t see it, but she hit it hard with one fist and it echoed. “Sammy?” she would call, hitting harder. She stood, reaching up to see if she could scale the slick surface, but it stretched up far above her head. She beat her fists against the barricade until they hurt. She screamed her brother’s name until her throat was raw, until she fell to the floor and leaned on the solid metal, pressing her cheek to its cool su...

In August, Charlie and Aunt Jen had their first fight. They’d always been too distant to really argue. Charlie never felt the need to rebel, because Jen provided no real authority. And Jen never took anything Charlie did personally, never tried to stop her from doing anything, as long as she was safe. The day Charlie moved in with her at the age of seven, Aunt Jen had told her plainly that she was not a replacement for Charlie’s parents. By now, Charlie was old enough to understand that Jen had meant it as a gesture of respect, a way to reassure Charlie that her father wouldn’t be forgotten, that she would always be his child. But at the time it had seemed like an admonishment. Don’t expect parenting. Don’t expect love. And so Charlie hadn’t. Jen had never failed to care for Charlie. Charlie had never wanted for food or clothing, and Jen had taught her to cook, to take care of the ...

Than your ...

“What’s wrong?” Arty said next to her.

Charlie had told Jen that she was going back to Hurricane, and Jen’s face turned stony, her skin paling. “Why would you want to do that?” she asked with a dangerous calm in her voice. Charlie’s heart beat faster. Because that’s where I lost him. Because I need him more than I need you. The thought of returning had been nagging at her for months, growing stronger with each passing week. One morning she awoke and the choice was made, final, sitting in her mind with a solid weight. “Jessica’s going to college at St. George,” she told her aunt. “She’s starting the summer semester so I can stay with her while I’m there. I want to see the house again. There’s still so much I don’t understand; it just feels … important,” she finished weakly, faltering as Jen’s eyes—dark blue, like marble—fixed on her. Jen didn’t answer for a long moment then she said simply, “No.” Why not? Charlie might once have said. You let me go before. But after what happened last year, when she and Jessica and the others went back to Freddy’s and discovered the horrifying truth behind the murders at her father’s old pizzeria, things had changed between them. Charlie had changed. Now she met Jen’s gaze, determined. “I’m going,” she said, trying to keep her own voice steady. Then everything exploded. Charlie didn’t know which of them started shouting first, but she screamed until her throat was fiery and sore, hurling at her aunt every pain she’d ever inflicted, every hurt she had failed to prevent. Jen shout...

“Yeah, that sounds—I have to go meet someone,” she interrupted herself. “You never meet anyone,” he said, surprised, blushing bright red as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “I didn’t mean it that way. Not that it’s any of my business, but, who is it?” He gave a broad smile.

“J...

Charlie said without elaboration. Arty looked crestfallen for a moment but recovered ...

J...

Great guy,” he said teasingly. He raised his eyebrows, prompting for details, but she gave none. “I didn’t know you were—that you had a—that’s cool.” Arty’s face took on a look of careful neutrality. Charlie lo...

John

were a couple but she didn’t know how to correct him. She couldn’t explain who John was to her without telling Arty far more than she wanted him to know. They walked in silence for a minute across the main quad, a small, gras...

John

from your hometown?” Arty ask...

“My hometown is thirty minutes away. This place is basically just an extension of it,” Charlie said. “B...

Arty hesitated, then leaned in closer to her, glancing around as if someone might be listening. “I always meant to ask you,” he said. Charlie looked at him wearily. Don’t ask about it. “I’m sure people ask you about it all the time, but come on—you can’t blame me for being curious. That stuff about the murders...

Freddy Fazbear’s...

“Stop.” Charlie’s face was suddenly immobile. She felt as if moving it, making any expression at all, would require an arcane skill she no longer possessed. Arty’s face had changed, too. His easy smile drained away. He looked almost frighten...

“I was just a kid when all that happened,” she said quietly. Arty nodded, quick and skittish. Charlie made her face move into a smile. “I have to go meet Jessica,” she lied. I have to get away from you. Arty nodded his head again like a bobblehead doll. She turned and walked away toward the dorm, not looking back. Charlie blinked into the sunlight. Flashes of what happened last year at Freddy’s were batting at her, snatches of memory plucking at her clothing with cold, iron fingers. The hook above, poised to strike—no escape. A figure looming behind the stage; red matted fur barely concealing the metal bones of the murderous creature. Kneeling in pitch-dark on the cold tile floor of the bathroom, and then—that giant, hard plastic eye glaring through the crack, the hot miasma ...

Sammy, her other self, her twin brother, were playing their quiet games in the familiar warmth of the costume closet. Then the figure appeared in the doorway, looking down on them. Then Sam...

Charlie was standing outside her own dorm room, almost without knowing how she’d gotten there. Slowly, she pulled her keys from her pocket and let herself into the room. The lights were off; Jessica was still in class. Charlie shut the door behind her, checking the lock twice, and leaned back against it. She took a deep breath. It’s over now. She straightened decisively and snapped on the overhead light, filling the room with a harsh illumination. The clock beside the bed told Charlie that she still had a little under an hour before John arrived—time to work on her project. Charlie and Jessica had divided the room with a piece of masking tape after their first week living together. Jessica suggested it jokingly, said she’d seen it in a movie, but Charlie had grinned and helped her measure the room. She knew Jessica was desperate to keep Charlie’s mess off her side. The result was a bedroom that looked like a “before and after” picture advertising either a cleaning service or a nuclear weapon, depending on whose side you looked at first. On Charlie’s desk there was a pillowcase, draped over two indistinct shapes. She went to her desk and removed it, folding it carefully and placi...

Charlie reminded herself. She turned them off and pulled the board around so that she could peer into their backs. She reached inside and adjusted a wire. A key slid into the lock of the door, and Charlie startled at the sound. She snatched the pillowcase and threw it over the faces as Jessica entered the room. Jessica paused in the doorway with a grin. “What was that?” she asked. “What?” Charlie said innocently. “Come on, I know you were working on that thing you never let me see.” She dropped her backpack on the floor, then flopped dramatically back...

J...

Charlie sat down on her own bed, across from Jessica. Despite their different lifestyles, she liked living with the other girl. Jessica was warm and bright, and while her ease as she went about the world still intimidated Charlie a little, now she felt like a part of it. Maybe being Jessica’s friend meant absorbing some of her confidence. “I haven’t seen him yet. I have to leave in …” She peered over Jessica’s shoulde...

“Me,” it said. “You,” the other replied, and they both fell silent again. Charlie looked at Jessica. Her friend had a pinched expression, like she was holding something tightly inside. “I,” the second face said.

“Hey, I never noticed you brought Theodore, your little robo-rabbit!” she exclaimed, pleased to have remembered the name of Charlie’s childhood toy. Before Charlie could respond, she picked the stuffed animal up by his ears—and came away with only his head.

Oh, Charlie, what’s wrong with you?

John?”

John,

Charlie looked away and stared fixedly at Theodore’s head, facedown on the floor. You mean, get over it? How do I even begin?

“John!” she called, her reluctance falling away as soon as she saw him. He put away his book, grinning widely, and hurried to her.

Hurricane,

Hurricane

“Your dad’s house, it was one of the ones that got hit,” he said. “Oh.” Something leaden was growing in Charlie’s chest. “I didn’t know.” “You really didn’t even go back to check?” “I didn’t think of it,” Charlie said. That’s not true. She’d thought a thousand times of going back to her father’s house. But it had never occurred to her that the house might have been hit in the storm. In her mind, it was impregnable, unchanging. It would always be there, just as her father had left it. She closed her eyes and pictured it. The front steps sagged in disrepair, but the house itself stood like a fortress, protecting what was inside. “Is it—gone?” Charlie asked, the words faint. “No,” John said quickly. “No, it’s still there, just damaged. I don’t know how much; I just drove by. I didn’t think I should go there without you.”

“No, no, that’s not …” She tipped her head from side to side, as if she could level out her thoughts, too. “Do you remember how I had a twin?” “What?” John sounded puzzled. “Of course I do. I’m sorry, Charlie, is that what you meant about your birthday?” She nodded, making tiny motions. John held out his hand again, and she took it. She could feel his pulse through his thumb. “Ever since we left

Hurricane

… You know how twins are supposed to be connected, have some kind of special bond?” “Sure,” he said. “Ever since we left—ever since I found out he was real—I’ve felt like he was there with me. I know he’s not. He’s dead, but for that whole year, I didn’t feel alone anymore.” “Charlie.” John’s hand tightened on hers. “You know you’re not alone.” “No, I mean really not alone. Like I have another self: someone who’s a part of me and is always with me. I’ve had these feelings before, but they came and went, and I didn’t pay much attention to them. I didn’t know they meant something. Then when I learned the truth, and those memories started coming back to me—John, I felt whole in a way I don’t even know how to describe.” Her eyes began to fill with tears and she pulled her hand back to brush them away. “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. That’s great, Charlie. I’m glad you have that.” “No. No, that’s the thing. I don’t!” She met his eyes, desperate for him to understand what she was so awkwardly trying to say. “He’s disappeared. That sense of completeness is gone.” “What?” “It happened on my birthday. I woke up and I just felt—” She sighed, searching. There wasn’t a word for it. “Alon...

Writing code wasn’t as exciting as what Dr. Treadwell taught, but Charlie still liked it. It was absorbing, detailed work. A single error could ruin everything. Everything? She thought of her impending date. The idea that a single error could ruin everything suddenly carried an awful weight.

Clay Burke. “Hey, Charlie.” He smiled, but his eyes were grave. Charlie hadn’t seen Hurricane’s chief of police—her friend Carlton’s father—since the night they’d escaped Freddy’s together. Looking now at his weathered face, she felt a rush of fear. “Mr. Burke, er, Clay. What are you doing here?” “Charlie, do you have a second?” he asked. Her heart sped up. “Is Carlton okay?” she asked urgently. “Yes, he’s fine,” Burke assured her. “Walk with me. Don’t worry about being late. I’ll give you a note for class. At least, I think an officer of the law has authority do that.” He winked, but Charlie didn’t smile. Something was wrong.

Sammy?